


The Horaquan Legacy: Scrapbook

by Quill18, SaltyDog



Series: The Hora-Quan Legacy [2]
Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Body Modification, Gen, Hive Mind, Parent-Child Relationship, Teenagers, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-08-02 09:24:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16302521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quill18/pseuds/Quill18, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyDog/pseuds/SaltyDog
Summary: In which Jak was never sent back to the past, but kidnapped and in Kor’s possession. Damas raids the Metal Head Nest to look for his son, kills Kor, but doesn’t find him. Jak ends up reared by the Hora-Quan and Damas is left rebuilding after the Dark Makers nearly destroyed the entire world.---The unfinished sequel to Graft.  Ficlets, unfinished chapters, rejected scraps, lore, and concept art will be posted here. I never finished this fic/finalized the timeline but it deserves to be collected in one place.





	1. Haven Arc - Bloodlines

**Author's Note:**

> Much thank yous for Salty Dog for listening to my blatherings on this fic when I was writing it. Thank you for the fandom for being interested at the time and encouraging me via reblogging and tagcomments. 
> 
> I never did settle on a timeline/what was canon for the fic, so things will be posted in chronological order. Some scraps will contradict. "Canon" scraps will be listed first, then rejected scenes, then lore and lastly concept art will be posted.

Jak stared at the book in front of him. It had been given to him by Tess and he was crouching on her guest bed, wings folded shut against his back. He sighed, eyes closing as he focused on his unitlink. 

Daxter was out with the Overflight Unit, his new size enabled him to fly on the swarm’s backs as they scouted the region for signs of Kaeden. Dax’s excitement thrummed through their mental link. 

His skull gem dimmed as Jak quieted their mental link and pulled himself together. His breathing grew heavier, unused to silent solitude. Usually Daxter’s emotions flared through their mind link and they would be buffered by the emotions of their hive. Mixing and flowing into each other. 

But this was something he needed to dwell on. Alone. As himself. 

Jak’s tail curled around his clawed feet and the picture book in front of him. 

Neither he or Dax could read the human glyphs. 

Tess’ warm voice flowed through his headphones, reading out the pages to him. 

His black claws rifled through the pages, showing the family members of the House of Mar. His thumb rubbed over the Seal of Mar. 

Who was he? 

Many of the old maker-accursed ruins around Haven’s jungles had it emblazoned on the doors, walls and devices. 

He and Dax had no trouble trekking through them, his seal activating to let them in. 

Sig had given them a very interesting look, and his eco field had spiked in intrigue when he witnessed that once upon a time. Daxter had taken much care to keep his seal down in their pack during that trip. 

He flipped through their pages, his eyes lingering on Haven’s old rulers. His claws traced over their faces. He stopped at the last pages. 

He mouthed the names silently as Tess’ recorded voice read them out. 

Styx Acheron. The last known Dark-Eco user of the Dynasty. Deceased.

Damas. Slayer of Kor, the Enslaver. The Hero Who Drove Back the Accursed Makers. 

Mar II. The lost prince of the line. The Last Heir. 

Jak stared at that picture for a very long time. The child’s seal looked just like his. In the rare times, he was out of eco, his hair took on a similar green shade. 

And it was rumored that the King, the Liberator had done a suicide raid on Kor because he had lost his child to the Slaver. Though he had survived the attack, but childless. 

He snapped his book shut and flung it onto the bed. He curled up into himself, tail wrapped around his body, and clutched his seal. 

There was no way.

No way. 

The mirror in Tess’ guest room, gleamed at him mockingly. He looked at it. 

His reflection.

Four wings and a barbed tail. Biometal plating adorning his limbs and back. The skull gem and horns that crowned him. Bone-white skin and death-black eyes. Cooling tubes ran through his form. 

Jak barely passed as human. 

There was no way. 

He looked at his seal. 

Its just a good luck charm.

It had to be.


	2. Haven Arc - Death of Kaeden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Demolition Duo take down Kaeden and disobey the Ancestral Hora-Quan Hive Mind.

Kaeden is dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

Their last hopes crushed. The last shapeshifting Hora-Quan. 

Dead by their own claws. 

Terminated. Disposed of. 

The Memory Keepers of Nest Reclamation overrode Unit Demolition, took aim, fired. 

Damn it. Damn it all to the slurry pits. 

They want their old body back. 

They were born human, modified into their new forms, they want to be human again. Not human in one vessel, the other body being some kind of furry sea-going creature.

the new form feels wrong. difficult to adjust to. speech is difficult with the new jaws. bipedal walking is gangly with its short hind legs. the fur means overheating happens. the human half learns to scurry and run on all fours, to help the furry half adjust. 

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter what they want. 

Someone, anyone will always override their will and aim them at someone else.

at least the new form means that half can fly properly, eco-loaded or not. 

—

it becomes a warning. 

this most heinous of taboos. 

do this to us. take away our free will again, and 

we will crush you 

shatter your fate, shatter your mind.

demolish you 

into nothing

Kaeden’s skull gems, the holder of his mind, his psyche, its supposed to be returned to the memory keepers. so his knowledge will be saved, to be returned to the ancestral mind…

claws of the slavemaker. claws of the abyssal night, pulverize the centuries of knowledge into nothing instead.

damn the greater good. damn benefiting the Many..

what about us? 

hive exile, name stripped, forgotten, just because one body changed. into an nightmareish form. the memory keepers remember. they remember. 

they remember the slavemakers, small furry eldritch beings who engineered the hora-quan. enslaved them. til the Many overcame and prevailed. 

the human half laughs bitterly. their own freedom taken away to destroy kaeden, who overrode his own people and destroyed their free will. 

both of them tasted how the memory keepers hoped that they and kaeden would destroy the other.

they were wrong. 

the human half weaves Kaeden’s shattered skull gem into his keratin threads, the viridescent-yellow mane scintillates with the shards. sharp as glass. his skin bleeds when broken psyche scratches into his skin. 

he takes kaeden’s blood and eco, his other half, his brother, tattoos kaeden’s destruction into his body’s wing. he does the same for his brother, his other half. 

the furry half, mane sunset-crimson, gets groomed. blood and gore is washed off him, black claws fluffing him up, the splintered mind is woven into his tail’s keratin threads. 

they will always smell of the dead.

permanent death woven into their being. 

they went against the Many


	3. Spargus Arc - Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sig defends Jak and Damas denies Jak's parentage.

“That thing isnt my son. ”

Damas gritted out, his fingers pressed into his precursor staff, his bare knuckles turning white. Mouth twisted in unhappiness. The Lord of the Wasteland stood on the stairs that led to his throne . His violet eyes looked down coldly at his first born son, Sig of the House of Mar.

“Jak IS Mar and denying it wont help any of us.” Sig glared back at his Father and King, precursor and hora quan armor shining by the lantern light.

“Chile pepper looks different, but thats him, no doubt about it.” Sig continued.

He stepped closer to Damas, his notched ears twitching in the dim light.

“Sire. He remembered me. Caught my scent and said my name. Right after I blasted Kaeden’s hive queen that was about to devour us.”

Damas stayed silent, his other hand grasped the Seal Of Mar, taken from the creature that wore his lost son’s face. Tooth marks dented it, years of blasphemy had scarred the precious heirloom.

Father and son stared each other down, locked in a battle of wills.

“I’m giving that back to my younger brother.” Sig stepped towards Damas, only for.the King to put it back into his waist pack.

“No.” Damas turned his back on his eldest child.

“You will put that creature down. And cast away all delusions.”

Lord Damas slammed his staff down onto the stone floor, turning his head to look Sig straight in the eye.

The King’s eyes darkened, dark eco filmed them into a glimpse of the abyss.

Sig bit his tongue and kept his eyes casted downward, unable look upon his sire in the eye. Jak had those same eyes in his own Dark form. He had their Father’s eyes when transformed, just like how Jak had Scourge’s eyes in those rare times he was deprived of eco. Damas had seen both forms and refused to accept their connection.

Damas voice shattered the silence, laced with barely contained rage.

“Understood, my son? Mar is dead. And no Hora-Quan travesty will bring him back.”

Sig tightly gripped his Peace Maker. 

“Understood, Sire.” 

He kept.his feelings tightly guarded, his eco fields withdrawn to keep his Sire from figuring out his true intentions. 

Damas gave him one nod of acknowledgement.

"Now go.“

—- 

Sig took the elevator down to the dungeons, he rubbed his own Seal. 

He needed to get…Jak out of here. Daxter too. There were several secret passages out of the dungeons to bypass potential sieges. 

Get their scaly asses out of Spargus and then he and Damas could pretend that this never happened.


	4. Spargus Arc - Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Damas is ashamed of nearly sentencing Jak to death.

“For saving Sig, the Crown Prince and my first-born son, you two have earned the right to this gate pass. The right to enter and leave Spargus at will.“

King Damas spoke stiffly, his eyes averted to keep from looking at Jak. He kept his ears level and still to avoid showing the turmoil of emotions raging with him.

He did not want to look at the Hora-Quan unit who resembled Mar. Who sounded and acted like him.

Still, he could feel their eco fields. Withdrawn, tight, crackling with repressed wariness, fear, anxiety, and yearning to know him. Their concern for Sig woven in as well.

King Damas gaze slid over Unit Demolition, Hive Exile. He couldn’t avoid looking at what Mar became.

The humanoid boy was curled tightly around Sig, his claws dug into the medical bed and wings folded against his back. The orange animal was asleep, draped over Sig’s head.

Jak didn’t speak, but his tail flicked in irritation and raised, ready to strike.

King Damas strode closer to them, his eyes studying Sig’s condition. His prosthethic leg echoed as it hit the stone floor. Blankets rustled as Jak backed into the wall, wings flaring out in warning and hissing to stay away.

Sig stirred uneasily in his sleep.

Damas took several steps back, if only to give the hybrid some space. Jak’s wings scratched as they folded back together.

He had nearly ordered the two to be killed, but Sig’s disobedience had led to him surviving a mission out in the Wastes. For it was Unit Demolition’s aid and Screech’s expertise, nomad medic, that led to Sig surviving.

In another time and place, both of his sons would be permanently lost to him.

Because of his own blind-sighted stubbornness.

Damas sighed, his ears flicked lowly, then raised again.

“This is yours.” Damas left the gate pass and Jak’s family seal on the bed. An unspoken apology for an old man’s folly.

Before he could see the hybrid’s reaction, Damas turned around and exited the room, metallic foot steps echoed as he strode away.


	5. Spargus Arc - Metamorphagi Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a few weeks after the "Denial" chapter and a few days after "Shame."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never did finish this, there is no part 2.

“Dark Eco. It is the most base substance known to Humanity. Carrying all known genetic codes and the Four Basic Ecos….

With control and discipline, it is capable of altering life itself…the Hora-Quan is proof of this…”

-Styx Acheron, Shaping Life.

All life comes from Eco, in death we return to it…the world’s life force flowing through the leylines constructed by the Precursors…

-Mako, Vent

—-

“Jak, this is the fourth stall we’ve looked at tonight! We’re never going to find it!” Daxter huffed from his perch on Jak’s shoulder plating, speaking in human.

Jak looked at Dax.

“We’ll be fine. It has to be somewhere in this blasted city.” He shot back via the mindlink. The dying sun gleamed off their metal plating, as it sunk below the horizon.

Both of them felt vulnerable and exposed in the Spargan Market. Tents and open-air stalls right next to the ocean, the sea breeze whipping in to relieve the market-goers from their suffering under the sun. The caves of the Outsider’s Bazaar felt down

Humans milled around, wary eyes flickering to them. Some outright aggressively stared at them, only to back off when they realized that Daxter was incapable of blinking. His hora-quan eyes emitting an undying glow of yellow, the metal plating shining back sunlight into their faces. Jak’s abyssal eyes of pure night also helped with the stare downs.

The caves of the Outsider’s Bazaar felt downright cozy in comparison despite the stink of the other hives, often sparring for rations and other resources. But at least none of the other hives wanted them dead.

Jak flicked their claws through the human-made books, looking for a copy of Shaping Life. Daxter perched on Jak’s right shoulder, covering Jak’s blind side. His eyes swept over the marketplace, ears flicking in different directions so they could survey the swarming masses of humanity without being caught unaware.

Tess had given them a photo of the title, so they could recognize it, neither of them capable of reading humanity’s words. But nothing they found matched it.

“Where is it!”

The pile of books grew as Jak kept rejecting manuscript after manuscript. The duo’s skull gems flared dimly as their individual personalities asserted themselves.

Daxter scurried on his shoulders restlessly, claws tapping against Jak’s plating. Both of them spoke in Hora-Vox, their people’s tongue.

“Man, Jak, y’think this place would have at least one audiobook!”

Jak growled back in affirmation, ears flattening back in shame. “We need to find it, then find someone who can read it to us.”

“Think Sig would?” Dax hung upside down, feet and tail wrapped around his hive brother’s horns.

“He better, after saving his ass clad in our dead kin-mates. And his….our sire nearly tried to deep six us. ” Jak replied.

Daxter changed the topic, neither of them wanting to remember how their genetic relatives had both tried to leave them for dead.

Still hanging upside down, Daxter ran his claws down his furry body, forearm plates glinting in the dying sunlight.

“Once this furry mug is gone, the demolition duo will be back in business!”

Jak grinned and threw his head, slinging Daxter back onto his head. The ottsel oofed as he sat back upright.

Both of them had gotten used to Daxter’s new form, but they missed the days when they were mirror images of each other. Fighting back to back. Jak’s grafted azure patches reflecting Daxter’s crimson hide. 

“Okay, get out. You two have been here for an hour and bought nothing.”

The irritated stall owner’s words cut through their temporary happiness, lacerating it. Another reminder they didn’t belong here.

Jak narrowed their eyes as they got kicked out of the stall. The owner was taller then them, the human loomed over Jak, using his size in an intimidation attempt.

The hybrid rolled his eyes.

Unit Demolition synchronized and flipped off the exasperated stall owner, a flat chested human of wrinkled sand-hued skin and torn ears.

“Stay out! Your kind isn’t welcome here! Illiterate monsters. Last time, I let slagging hybrids into my shop!”

Daxter shrieked as Jak snagged him and dove behind a corner. Yellow eco blasted where they had stood outside of the stall, leaving behind smoldering melted sand, flakes of glass reflecting the sunlight.

The human bystanders ignored them, used to disagreements between wastelanders being settled with gun, knife, and eco blasts.

Irritation and fatigue flowed through their hive mind. Unacknowledged children of the King, yet treated lower then leaper shit.

“Sig’s gonna hear about this!” Dax yelled back, about to scamper back, and blast some red eco into the stall. Jak grabbed his hive brother by the tail.

“Not worth it, Dax. Last thing we need is getting dragged off to see the King. C’mon.”

Their stealth systems clicked on so they could avoid the trigger-happy masses. 

“Hey, ah Jak, I overheard some fleshie talk about a bookstore in the Hanging Gardens.” Dax shot through the mind-link.

“Let’s go then.”

The two melted into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mako is a reference to Final Fantasy VII.


	6. Character Study - Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spans a long amount of time. Not in chronological order. Slices of life in a hora-quan unit post Dark-Maker War and post destruction of Kor.

**Freedom.**

Unit Trifecta had always considered their hatchling, the Jak-body of Unit Demolition to have been an omen of freedom and luck. The little humanborn had tumbled out of an egg with the Liberator’s Seal hanging from his neck. Freshly mind-clear for the first time, no endless directives, no endless hunger for war clouding their bond, the Progenitor-caste unit listened to their first directive that felt truly _theirs._

_Design and protection of hatchlings._

_Finally, an instinct not force-compulsed into them by Kor._

They licked the humanborn hatchling clean and gave their new[ child the freedom to choose a new body. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090729/chapters/27404898)

**Freedom from hunger.**

Back in the nest, things had been so easy. Daxter never went hungry. The jungles offered easy pickings. He and Jak would race on how many insects they could catch, how much fruit to pick, which body can pick the highest fruit the fastest, who can catch the most fish. 

Daxter always won those,  dragging out fish to feed his growing body. And Jak would always steal his pickings to feed their new egg-siblings. 

The air hung heavy with eco, vents and human Eco-infrastructure now exposed to the elements because of the Dark Maker war. So easy to just _breath_ and refill their eco reserves, keep themselves from feeling the gnawing withdrawal. 

But now they are exiles in the desert, the air is dry, laced with the stinging light. Every breath _hurts. There is little water to swim in._ Daxter’s fur runs dry and heavy with oil, Jak’s claws rubbing into him, trying to get him clean _but its never enough._

Both their stomachs are devoid of nourishment and Daxter’s ears droop and the  mind-echo of vomit phantomburns the back of his throat. The mind-link is bright with the sensations of Jak retching up the last of their eco for the youngest hive members. 

Daxter feels the burning of Jak’s skin as it darkens due to sun exposure and there is no green eco to heal the peeling burns. He  curls into himself to groom, to mute the  constant pain of the sun’s rage. 

Legs, their metal-pede sibling rumbles with hunger and guilt, swallowing up whole leaper lizard bodies. It knows everyone else is going hungry to feed it, but they need Legs’ locomotion and raw sheer power. 

Meanwhile, Unit Trifecta begs and screams at King Damas to give them reparations for the near-death of their humanborn hatchlings. They need rations, eco, _anything. Their children are dying._

**Freedom from abandonment.**

The hive does not abandon. 

Daxter flips off Nest Reclamation as they leave the nest, the Memory Keeper’s wariness and hatred pulsing through the hive mind. 

Jak is quiet, sullen. It’s his fault that Daxter wears the face of the Slavemakers, its his fault that the entire hive has to _leave._

Unit Trifecta refuses to abandon them. And so with Dust Glyph Unit and Legs accompanying them, they become Hive Exile. 

Jak wonders what happened to the human parents that created him, staring at the seal that hangs around his neck. Was he abandoned like Daxter? 

“We don’t need them anyway.” Daxter cuts into his brooding. 

**Freedom from judgement and revulsion.**

This is their third time fleeing from a Spargan market, they tried bartering for the fruit and fish but no one gave them the time of day. Stolen nourishment is in their arms. 

And none of the Hora-Quan in the Outsiders’ Bazaar will deal with them. Unit Morph stares at them with pity and envy, while Hive Sandstorm politely ignores them.

Lord Damas averts his eyes from Jak, dropping off their rations at their cave in the Bazaar but that is the only care they get. 

They hide in an empty room in the bath house, to clean off grit, oil, and dried blood. The two sink deep into the water, but they are still sighted. Someone tries to throw them out, only for Halcyon to skullcrack the perpetrator.  Damas is summoned by Halcyon’s communicator and the King actually does his fatherly duty for once. Defending his outcasted offspring against the angry crowd. 

**Freedom from being tied down.**

Jak hates  the eco lines of the Wasteland. The Mother Dark is distant, buried, deep under the desert sands, blanketed by the stinging hurting Light. 

In Haven, he was enmeshed, woven into the Mother Dark’s loving grasp. Connected to the vents and natural channels that run through the land. 

But here, he is alone, unable to connect to the eco lines that slither through the barren wasteland. 

**Freedom from loneliness.**

They are never alone. They have each other. 

Damas cannot understand. 

That he created one. 

But his child merged and is now two.

 Damas’ gaze lingers on Daxter, his violet eyes hard with revulsion, envy, relief. 

Revulsion that his son’s mind swirls and bleeds into the furry beast before him. Envious that his son is closer to everyone but to his own father. Relief that his child grew up among monsters with an ally, a friend, a brother. 

Damas tries to scratch Daxter’s ears, only for needle teeth to sink into his hand. 

“That’s for leaving us to die!” 

And Jak’s abyssal claws are at Damas’ throat. 

 **“Don’t hurt him/me/my other body/hive-brother.”** is the confusing translation that Damas can come up with, for his son’s speech in Hora-Vox. 


	7. Character Study - Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More ficlets set in the HQL Universe.

**Peace through stillness.**

Downtime. 

They sleep, lodged into the cell of their wasp nest. It hangs off the seacliff below the Spargan palace. 

Daxter is crammed into the back of the cell, the Jak-body curled protectively around him. From time to time, Daxter kicks and twists, trying to get more room and his other body has to shift to accommodate him. Wind blows into the holes of their nest, cooling them down, lulling them to sleep. 

The rest of their hive pings at the edges of their mind. Unit Trifecta works on the few human patients desperate enough to seek them out for medical care. They twitch in their sleep, Jak’s face frowns and burying deep into Daxter’s fur as the patient's emotion of pain and discomfort spills out into the mental network.

A rush of green eco soothes the patient, the eco ripples out, soothing the Demolition Duo. 

They dream of devoured rock, sand, ancient eco and organic material. In their dreams, they are Unit Ambush, sleep-synchronized with Legs, their metal-pede sibling. They/its many legs, churning the landscape below, eco surges up from the underground channels, flooding the new tunnels, bringing life to the barren landscape. Daxter’s wings buzz in his sleep, de-synchronizing, the flood of eco is triggering, memories of body twisting into unnatural shapes by the Mother Dark. 

Legs disengages, Jak cuts the bond loose, he mentally curls around Daxter, reassuring him with _I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, the new body is okay, its okay, Dax._

Dust Glyph unit pings them, clicks of concern, queries of hunger? Jak merges with them, making sure their minds don’t touch Daxter. His mind split, he keeps Daxter asleep as he feels the scurrying stingers hunt down kangarat and lizard alike. Support empathy is draining but he draws strength from the unit. The sensations of hunger satisfied lulls Jak back to mental sleep.

**Peace through movement.**

Demolition ignores Damas, lurking on the balcony above the palace courtyard.  

Yes, he had saved them from the angry crowd in the bath house. 

Yes, he had kept their hive fed as Legs ate everything. 

Yes, he’s technically their Father, their Maker. 

But to them, he’s only broodstock, raw genetic material used in the fabrication of only _one_ body of theirs. He’s only responsible for twenty-five percent of their genetic material.

He lost the right to be called Maker, Father, Dad when he ordered them to be disposed of. Damas hadn’t taken the revelation of having hora-quan children very well. 

 _Near-murder_ of one’s offspring is a hefty debt to pay off. 

They distract themselves from his glowering presence, the desperate need to connect to his genetic descendant, the heavy guilt that he carries, the-

It is choking, strangling, oppressing. 

But Sig, _brother and friend_ is here to distract them. 

“Chile peppers, catch it!” Their human brother flings a metal disc at them, surged with crackling blue eco against the night sky

It arcs into the air, lit by the moonlight. 

Two winged streaks chase after it. One orange, one azure. The Daxter-body flies effortlessly, slim light body taking into the air, his wings finally supporting him. Jak’s wings pump furiously, eco wasted to keep himself off the ground. 

Sig whoops and hollers for them, cheering them both on. 

The disk starts to drop as Jak’s claws brush against it. Daxter flies against his face, smothers his vision, Jak screeches in distraction, and drops the disk. 

Daxter launches himself off Jak’s face and dives. Four ottsel limbs snag the disk and Daxter tumbles and rolls into the dusty ground. 

“Hah, Jak, I caught it!” Sig picks up Daxter, scratching his ears. Amused at Daxter’s antics to distract Jak. “Good job, rookie.” 

Jak lands, his face bleeding. He rolls his eyes, wiping off the blood from where Daxter’s claws dug into his skin. 

Dax perches on Sig’s head as Sig headlocks Jak. Their brother is about to clean off his face…when Scruffy beats Sig to it first. 

Jak tries to wriggle free as the crocadog licks his face clean. 


	8. Rejected Chapter - The Arena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disturbed by Sig's fight in the arena, the Demolition Duo challenge Damas to an arena fight because they are young cocky little shits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in three parts on tumblr, now mashed together here for your viewing pleasure. I wasn't happy with how Damas first found Jak so I ended up rejecting these chapters.

Damas looked at his son.

Who came back alive.

Changed but alive.

His unconscious boy.

His fingers ran over Mar’s four wings, insectlike, reminsecent of Kor. Leathery brown skin, transclusent in the bright desert sun, dark-eco flowed in his son’s veins. The veins pulsed a dark purple. Metal glinted in the sunlight, at the plating that protected his son’s fragile wing joints, grafted to his shoulders.

His eyes ran down his child’s back, thick blue-black hide patched over tan human skin. His fingers caressed the scarred bio-metal plates that jutted out over sunburnt scars, the grafted flesh was imperfect, half-grown. As though the process was interrupted.

What had been done to his son?

Damas gazed at Mar’s tail, an imperfect limb. Blue flesh over a skeleton of biometallic tubing. Tipped with metallic spear-points.

Damas grimaced at his right arm, the dark eco burns healed slowly even with his light eco abilities. Thin red-violet lines, striking through his skin like an electric bolt. He had seen these scars before, but only on victims of rare desert lightning storms.

He had found out the hard way that Mar inherited their family’s affinity for channeling eco.

He smiled.

At least his child has grown up to be a survivor.

Just like him.

Damas’ smile drifted away, at the sight of his son’s injuries.

A broken arm and a broken leg, acquired in the arena fight between him and his son.

Damas remembered, his teeth gritting, regret and sorrow swirling in his mind, as he tended to his son’s injuries.

He was the cause of it.

Him.

Mar’s own father.

The cause of his child’s own injuries.

This was all his fault. He should have never accepted Mar’s arena challenge. 

\----

Night. 

The hive mind screamed as its bodies was cut down like prey. 

The killer was a mockery of their form. Human, clad in the plates of their dead hive brethren. 

The roaring dark, screamed in pain as its children were slaughtered by bolts of blue eco electricity. Their mental presences vanished, minds melting back into the dark eco’s primordial essence. 

Jak pulled himself out of it, the trance-state that connected him to the world’s eco fields. Daxter flinched at the psychic echo of the dying Hora-Quan below him. 

Hot air rushed into their noses, the lava pit’s heat seared their lungs. 

Jak flapped his, their wings at Daxter, trying to keep him cool. 

The pain of the hive mind faded into a dull ache in the back of Jak’s head. Hot acrid water dripped into his mouth, as it flowed around his external cooling system, removing the heat. 

It wasn’t much help in this volcanic crater. 

They looked down. 

Hive Exile, Unit Demolition Duo, Bodies, Jak and Daxter watched on in horror. Their skull gems glowed as their minds knitted together. 

Ears angled back, claws flexing in anticipation of battle. 

Sig…their battlebrother? lived here? and he was…killing…slaves…

Traitor. They had notched his ears, marked him with their glyph. Thought his armor dated back to the days when the Hive Slaver reigned and wasted its creations lives on needless wars. 

Daxter looked worriedly at Jak, his hive-sibling always gotten attached too quickly. His brother’s eyes tracked Sig, dark eco crackling at his claw’s fingers tips. 

The duo had killed the Hive Slaver Kaeden, Sig at their side.

Their eyes were wide, skull gems aglow as they were fully synched. Jak had his clawed hands over Daxter’s furry mouth, to keep his other half from mouthing off to the crowd. And breaking their cover.

Jak mouthed at Daxter, “I’m going to kill him” 

Their stealth cloaking hid them in the shadows. Even the glow of their gems. 

Why the fuck did they accept this mission from Deadshot and Farwing? 

Oh yes, their caretakers wanted to know more about Spargus and what they did to captured Hora-Quan. 

Both of them leaned over the cliff side opening, claws digging into their palms as they clung to the rails. Video feed was being recorded by their hidden communicator. 

Jak felt their stomach, the one in his own body, churn. Daxter, not wanting to feel his other half’s nausea, disrupted the synchronization. His other half’s grip loosend on his face. 

Their skullgems faded as Daxter asserted his individuality and loosened the synch. His partner’s nausea faded into the back of his mind. 

Daxter pushed Jak back into the shadows, to remove the horrifying sight from his other half’s eyes. 

“Jak, dont see this. Its making you more nervous then a tipped yakkow.” The ottsel shot via mindlink. 

“Aaaaaand I don’t need you barfing on me again. Don’t need to go swimming in that stuff. Bad enough when Jinx dragged us into the sewers to get us into Haven.” 

Jak looked down at his partner, softly growling in irritation.He tried to step by Daxter, only for the ottsel to nudge him back. Dax went around Jak and pulled on his tail.

“C’mon big guy, we got enough footage.”

—-

Daxter wrenched himself free of their shared mind connection, skull gem glow dying down to a very faint light. Jak’s nausea grew stronger, and the last thing Daxter needed was to throw up. 

They had meant to climb over the cliff wall, back to the Outsiders’ Bazaar. Dax gulped, sneaking around in a city full of assholes who can shoot you dead was not his idea of fun. 

Outsiders were not allowed in the the city proper, only in the trading market in the seaside caverns next to it. He hadn’t wanted to go, but Jak had picked him up and nodded at their Hive Elders. 

Daxter’s spines raised and his hackles bristled. He missed his human form. When he could fight back to back with his hivesibling. Now he was carted around like an infant crocadog. 

The full moon glimmered down at them. 

Daxter kept watch, clinging to the wall. Their skull gems were very faint, their personalities usually mixed and flowed together but right now he and Jak felt like two very distinct presences in the hive mind. 

Something was coming. A glowing presence. Light eco. Usually it was a faint stinging ambiance, but now it was a very solid presence. Authoritative. Strong and in charge. 

A spike of nausea hit Daxter from his hive-mate and he nearly loosened his grip. Jak had already dropped off the wall. 

“Jaaaaaak!” 

Their cloaking devices clicked off, disrupted because of technical difficulties. 

—-

Sick. 

So fucking sick.

Just how Sig killed them. Casually. Without remorse. 

His own kind and mine alike. 

—–

Jak hunched over, wings tightly folded in as he vomited, tail stiffly held high. 

Dark eco mixed with stomach acid hit the desert sand as he puked. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Bloodsport was nothing new to him. He and Dax had years of scars from ranking fights, to determine where they stood socially. 

Some fights were for battlelust. 

Some fights because he had to put another unit in their place. 

But this…this? 

He screeched as vomit forced its way out of his mouth.

Sig was his friend. 

None of those fights were to the death. 

None of those fights had enslaved individuals.

He felt Daxter’s soothing presence on his shoulder, paws petting through his shorn hair. 

His ears perked up, at footsteps. 

Crawling through the dirt, was the Swarm Unit. Feeding off his eco-polluted vomit. 

Little fuckers must’ve followed him into the city. 

——

Dax looked up, fur bristling. 

It was the King. 

Daxter ran in front of Jak, trying to slow down the tyrant. The King strode over him, his presence not even acknowledged. 

—–

Jak stood his ground, straightening his body, and he flared out his wings. Dark eco crackled as he flexed his claws and lashed his tail. His mind tore free of the connection to Daxter, the Dark in him crying out for blood. His skull gem faded to darkness. 

He screeched in Hora-Vox, his people’s language. 

“Your fucking fights make no sense! Make a stronger hive, human. Instead of breaking it for your own sadistic amusement! 

The King’s eco field flared in a bright light, tinted by dark. Corrupt light eco. 

Jak shuddered. Twisted order.

“Fucking waste of resources you have here.” 

Dax climbed up his body, “Jak, Sandking here don’t understand you. All he hears is GRAAAAAAAAH.” 

Daxter clawed the air. Jak glared at him. He’s a fucking King, he should understand them fine. 

Daxter clung to the back of his head. The moon glowed full. Jak smirked as he remembered that the hive’s leadership cycled to him and Dax that night. They looked at each other. 

Both their skull gems flared brightly, as they mentally re-synchronized. 

“Let’s take over this fucking place.” Their silent glances communicated wordlessly. 

Their exiled asses could use a new home. 

They agreed on it.

“I, we, my hive, challenge you! We’ll be better leaders then you ever could be!” 

The Trifecta Unit was going to kill them. 

The king loomed over them, yet the demolition duo didn’t back off. 

“I understand fine.” It said in the human tongue. 

Daxter snarled at him shocked, “ ‘What… HOW? Desert heat not cooking your brain, Sandking?”

They were looked upon with contempt and a stony gaze. “ I don’t accept challenges from those too young to fight. Go home .And clean this up.” 

The King pointed his staff at Jak’s puddle of vomit and dark eco. Then he turned and left.

Coward. 

Jak smirked as he blasted Dark Eco at the King’s back. 

His ears angled back in aggression, drooped as the King sidestepped his blast. 

Fuck. 

“Uh, Jak. Looks like you missed ol’ Sandy there.” 

No shit, Dax.

His ears got yanked as the King dragged him into the Arena. 

“Hah, we win, Sandy-vag! You accepted our challenge!” Daxter yelled back at the irate king.   
\---  
He should have never lost his son in the first place. 

Yesterday, was Damas’ first encounter in over ten years with his lost child. He hadn’t recognized him, not until after the challenge had been accepted and Damas won.

Sig had been honing his skills in the arena, captured Marauders and Metal Heads throne into the pits to die for bloodsport. Damas watched him intently, both with his physical and enhanced eco-channeler senses. 

The bright dark eco fields of the Metal Heads was nearly blinding, flaring up with rage and a need to kill. They blurred into one single mind. The subtle eco-fields of the Marauders were like single pin-pricks of red-eco enhanced strength, while his own people were a screaming excited wash of emotion laced with red and yellow, and an afterglow of bright light. 

Sig himself was sharp and direct. A tightly coiled spring of red eco with the accuracy of yellow. A field of green eco buffered him against the roaring dark of the metal heads. 

Damas’ sharp eyes tracked Sig’s every movement, pride surging for his chosen Second and Heir, Sig never disappointed him. Except for one failed mission…a failure to find and retrieve his precious - 

His thoughts stopped there. No dwelling on the past. 

In the king’s peripheral vision…something seemed wrong. On one of the distant stands in the shadows, an unnatural shimmer in the dim lighting. Visual distortions. Invisibility cloaking 

In the distant fringes of his eco-senses, Damas felt faded Dark Eco presences. …It was confusing, Damas frowned at the sensations, his eyes tracking Sig while he kept flickering his vision to the shimmers. The presences felt blood thirsty, but unlike the savage aggression of the Hora-Quan, there was an under-current of curiosity and …horror….

Something about it seemed achingly familiar. 

His mother’s side had been able to channel dark eco, distant relatives of the Acheron family.

In the back of his mind, a forbidden thought whispered.

…Mar?

No, that was preposterous. His son was-

Damas shut down that train of thought, his eco senses withdrew and slammed back into himself. He rubbed his head, frustration mounting. 

His investigation would have to wait. 

Sig’s battle raged on below him. 

Something in his gut told him to investigate alone.

—-

After congratulating Sig on another win and sending him home for a well-earned rest, Damas strode out of the Arena. The unorthodox dark eco signatures had left, stopping in an near by alleyway.

The wretched sounds of vomiting. 

Whoever it was, had been horrified by the purity of the Arena. 

Someone or something with a dark eco field. 

Horrified by the arena. 

It didn’t add up. 

Damas eyed the corner warily, ears training for a potential ambush. He held his staff, ready to defend his city of whatever awaited him. 

The distortions in the light cracked and broked, as he turned the corner. Some kind of broken invisibility field. 

It was…a youth? 

The young one wore a ragged cloak, face hidden by a crimson scarf. As it vomited, its hood fell back. 

Bone-white skin and hair, oblivion eyes, black horns and the stink of metal heads.He was hunched over a puddle of vomit, mixed with the violet shimmer of dark eco.

Another wretched guttural puke. 

Disgusting. 

The youth’s black eyes had widened and stood up, trying to hide the mess. Several stingers were at his feet, soaking in the mix of vomit and eco. 

Damas’ eyes narrowed, not happy at the sight of metal heads traveling openly in his city. They usually kept to the outsiders’ bazaar. The only area in which Spargus is open to outsiders. 

Years ago, Damas had been forced to open trade to the neutral wasteland metal heads, no city out in these wastes is self-sufficient. The ones captured in the arena were those who dared to threaten Spargan superiority. Rumors had traveled of a mutated child adopted by the desperate…neutral monstrosities. 

That very child was before his eyes. Judging by the height and build, he looked fourteen or fifteen. He only came up to Damas’ mid-chest. 

A rash youth, growling and shrieking. Hora-quan screeches. Broken words. Something about broken hive. Waste of life. The arena being fucked up. Broken community. Something about everything having its place, not just to be killed. 

Damas had once studied the primitive tongues of the hora-quan for strategic purposes. He wasn’t fluent, but enough to decipher any hacked communications. 

“I…my hive. us..better leader. I….we…challenge you.”

The young one glared at him, skull gem glowing under his cloak. Dark eco filmed his eyes, purple-black hiding rage and a touch of naivety. 

“Jaaaaaaaak, Sandking here don’t understand you. All he hears is GRAAAAAAAAH.’ A small furry creature, purple-tinted orange, mimed claws. 

Both King and Youth glared at him.

Damas loomed over them, eyes narrowed. 

“I understand fine.” 

‘What… HOW?” The furry creature replied in shock. “ Desert heat not cooking your brain, Sandking?”

Damas ignored the fool. 

“ I don’t accept challenges from those too young to fight. Go home .And clean this is up.” Damas pointed his gunstaff to the pile of vomit. 

Damas turned his back, about to leave. 

His field of awareness, picked up a blast of Dark Eco coming his way.

He sighed, rolled his eyes, and side stepped. 

It hit the wall next to him, infrastructure crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, Jak. Looks like you missed ol’ Sandy there!” 

The idiot child’s smirk fell, his jaw gaping. 

Damas dragged the shrieking youth back into the Arena by his ears. 

He had no intention of killing the fool child, even a dark eco channeler. 

But some lessons have to be learned the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My version of Hora-Quan do unlethal fights to settle disputes and to figure out hive-mind rankings. I figured the Demolition Duo would be disturbed by lethal fights to the death since they were raised by a hive-mind society.


	9. Rejected Chapters - Deimos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More rejected chapters. At the time, I couldn't pin down a stable timeline so I ended up writing scenes that conflicted with other events. All of the HQL scraps were written around 2016 and I just cringe at them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in the rejected continuity of the Arena chapters.

**DEIMOS**. USAGE: Greek Mythology. OTHER SCRIPTS: Δειμος (Ancient Greek) **Means** “terror” in Greek. This was one of the sons of the Greek god Ares. 

You are asleep underneath a wet blanket, on Tess’ couch. Your hair is sticky. 

You don’t care. It reminds you of home’s greenery, so you keep it despite the unyielding desert heat. 

Your wings  splay outward, to aid your cooling systems. Waste water drips out your liquid cooling system’s coils and into a bucket. Dark eco slithers into your arms’ feeding ports via a human-made iv tube. 

You used all your eco the past week, aiding your hive against an marauder raid on Hive Decimation. Damas, your Maker had to save your hide from being gunned down off Hardshell’s back. 

Your body is still peppered with eco burns, healing as you sleep.  

It is dark and sweltering, but the electric fan in Tess’ living room makes things bearable. 

You sleep, your tan skin slowly fading back to its usual bone-white.

Someone knocks on the door. Your ears twitch and you bury yourself towards the couch’s backing. The damp blanket gets tossed over your head. 

Precious sleep drifts away. 

Go away, you think. 

The knocking continues. 

You can sense the flare off an agitated light eco field. It phases through the door.  

If Daxter was here, your hive brother would already be at the door, snarking at the intruder. 

But he isn’t here. He’s with Tess at the market, peddling ammo and weaponry with her. You opted to sleep in and rest, to let your aching body and worn out mind recuperate. Hidden from the raucous crowds

You hear a sigh and keys rustling, the door opens. Heavy footsteps. 

Sunlight strikes you, a hot angry gleam shines through the damp blanket. 

Your bad eye is blinded by the sun, your good eye picks up your maker’s disappointment and relief at having found you. 

You grind your teeth and your ears angle back at the heat and light rushing in. 

Maker tears the blanket off you, shutting the door behind him. 

It is dark again. 

 He lights a lantern with a quick burst of yellow eco, throwing shadows across the room. 

You wish for a split second that you had that level of control, but stomp it down. 

Your maker speaks. 

“Sit up.” 

You do, scooting over to the other side of the couch, sideways, so your wings can flare up, unscrunched by the couch’s backside.

 You perch on the armrest, foot claws digging onto the fabric.

Your maker makes noises of disapproval. 

He drapes the blanket over your shoulders, moves your waste water bucket closer to you, rolls the dark eco IV tube over to your side,  and places himself on the couch. At least, he is giving you space by sitting on the opposite end. 

“Tess told me you would be here.” 

You look away from his unyielding gaze. You know there is a staircase behind your perch. And two shuttered windows in front of it. And the door. 

Your wings rustle together, scratching. 

You know if you try to bolt for it, Maker can and will catch you. You catch the gleam of blue eco vials in his belt. 

He catches your gaze, his eyes roam over you, studying your form. 

Underneath the blanket, Maker sees you in your battle sister’s clothes from Haven. Her green halter top wraps your chest, a blue skirt encircles your waist.You like it. It is airy and comfortable and is a reminder that you are from the nest close to Haven. The home you can never go back to.

 She cooed over you and petted your hair and called you adorable earlier that day. Sometimes you wish she was hive, that she was hora-quan. Not human.

Damas breakes the uncomfortable silence. 

“Jak….my son…I was worried about you when I saw that you left the medical area.” 

Your ears twitch downward. A memory flash of Daxter exclaiming the pair of you as a they, not a male. 

You fold your arms and tilt your head, ears perked up and angled back. You grunt out the hora-vox word for “no’. 

You know he understands you. He’s listened in to your conversations with the hive. 

He glances at your clothing, studying your form wrapped in your battle sister’s cloth hide and in the damp blanket. 

His words sound hesitant, questioning. 

“…My daughter?”

Your tail lashes from side to side, you dont say anything. Only shake your head.  

You know you look ridiculous by the human’s culture but you aren’t human so it doesn’t matter. Your stomach churns. 

A part of you feel that it does. 

Your cloth wrapped feet scritch the couch, claws digging into the stuffing.

“My child then. “ Maker sighs, his hand rubbing his face and horned crown. His eco field is flaring, a soft light. He is trying not to show his anger at you sneaking out of the sleeping area back in the Spargan Palace. 

His inner core feels like wound up Dark and Green. Worry, stress, anger at you having run off to deal with hive buisness. Battling a marauder raid against hive decimation. Him having to rescue you from being gunned down, his slam dozer hitting the vehicle that was about to run down harshell. 

Your wings wrap around your body. Maker wants to protect you. 

Your claws touch your facial scars, running over the ridges and the sand-blasted flesh. Over your bad eye. 

The scars attained from your childhood ranking fights. You and your brother had to prove yourself worthy of your caretaker’s protection and nourishment after a year in the hatchery. 

Your Maker hasn’t made any signs of having to earn his protection after he realized you were his…hatchling. 

You don;t know how to feel about this. You aren’t a hatchling anymore. You fight in your hive as a Caretaker. You wish you aged like your clutch mates. Live fast, die young. Grown in several years. 

Instead of this slow childhood of over a decade. 

You wish Daxter was here. Their vocal abilities would make this a lot easier to deal with. You feel severed, your other half is not here. 

 Daxter’s end of the bond, feels happy, a small loudmouth haggling at the market. Your maker’s voice pulls you back to your body. Your eyes squeeze shut, you dont like being only one body and mind. It feels unnatural. 

“Jak…we need to go home”. Maker looks tired, weary. 

Your wings twitch up and your claws brush against your hivesister’s nest wall. 

The message is clear.  _“This is home.”_

Underscored by a need to flee from maker. 

His eyes are speculative. His brows are furrowed, searching you, a glint of anger at defying him. 

You don’t feel comfortable around Damas, King of Spargus.

Why can’t he see that. 

Your limbs still ache where he broke them, in that failed arena fight from many moons ago. 

Your claws rub on the former spots where they broke, its a good thing Daxter isn’t here since you two would fall into a feedback loop of flashbacks and memory. You can sense his end of the bond fade, as he mentally  pulls away to avoid your discomfort. 

He sends-

Damas grabs your shoulders, your mental bond to Daxter breaking. 

“Jak, look at me. What is wrong?” He looks at where he once injured you as you massage the aching limbs,  his eyes widening in recognition. 

Your wings buzz angrily and your good eye flashes black. You repress the roiling coil of dark eco flowing through your veins. 

You cannot and will not fight your Maker again.

Your breathing grows heavier. 

You remember the snap of shattering bone in the arena. 

The only time you lost to a human. 

Damas tries to calm you down by stroking your hair, the way he’s seen Tess do it. You jerk away, dark eco crackling in the air. Sparks fly when it hits your Maker’s light eco shield.  

You’re held down as your Maker holds you to his chest.

“MAR, CALM DOWN.’ 

You still as you hear your birth-name. 

Damas pins you close to him with one arm, while his other hand rubs green eco salve into your wounds; eco burns, cuts and sore muscles from the recent raid. 

You feel a syringe hitting your feeding ports. 

You feel…calmer.

Your maker’s eyes are filled with regret.

You hear your Maker’s heartbeats before everything fades out. 

 

\----

 

**Part 2**

 

You wake up, a sweaty mess  swathed in fabric and the cold desert air. The sun has set, the full moon hangs in the night sky. You feel yourself sink into the soft flut flut-feather mattress. You roll off. 

Your mind is fuzzy.

But you are no longer sore. And your wounds and cuts have been bandaged and treated with green eco.

You throw the blankets off you, they hit the wall and slid down. Your foot claws scruff the stone floor.

Your skin itches. You look for the irritation’s source. 

You’re no longer dressed in your battle sister’s cloth hide. 

A crimson scarf ties back your hair, cloaking your horns from view, it loops down to wrap around your neck. 

A rough-hewn tan tunic wraps around your torso. It is tied around your neck and lower back, leaving space for your wings. They brush over the fabric, it isn’t a pleasant sensation. 

A dark brown skirt is tied around your legs and it hangs down to your knees. Your tail protrudes through a hole. Slits are cut to allow for better range of movement. A loincloth protects your sensitive bits down there. 

Several belts girdle your waist, holding the skirt up. It reminds you of the restraints that your Maker put you in after the arena fight. 

You growl at the memory. 

The cloth feels heavy. 

You resist the temptation to tear off the fabric with your claws and fangs. 

You are not pleased at having your chosen cloth hide replaced by another’s choosing. 

You only keep it on because the night air is chilly. 

You feel tubes intrude into your flesh, it coils into the feeding ports on your right arm. Calming drugs. Dark eco pushes back the mind-fuzzing influence.  Your ears slat back and you tear it out, kicking down the iv-stand. 

The released fluids faintly smell of stinging light eco. 

Your claws hitch into the stone walls, you climb onto it, scuttling onto the ceiling. 

The hive mind feels distant, you can’t feel your other half.  You try but nothing comes. Blankness answers. 

Somehow, the drugs have cut off your connection. 

In the window’s reflection, you can tell that your skull gem’s glow has faded to nearly nothing. 

For the first time in over a decade, you are one single mind, one single body and cannot reach out for more. 

You are alone. 

Fear twists your guts and your wings tighten against your back. 

Looking around the room, you can tell that your Maker dragged you back to his palace. The walls are roughly hewn sandstone,  there is one bed, and shelves full of books that you cannot read. There is a chamber pot in one corner. 

There is a desk filled with buckles, straps, and old armor plating strewn all over it. 

The wide windows have been cracked open to let in the night wind, you must have been quite out for the sun not to have woken you up. 

Your eyes glow violet. 

You cannot keep up the eco surge flowing through your systems. 

Soon you will run out. 

But you need your mind clear for this, not fuzzed out and sleepy like your Maker wants. 

Last time, the drugs only worked because his Light Eco field overpowered your Dark. And you were too distressed to notice it. 

You scramble over to the window, your claws dig into the window frame.  Your claws tap against it. You kick against the glass. It holds. Your leg aches. 

You do not have enough eco to split the Dark into the Basic Four, Red would be useful for escaping, even if it would bring down your Maker’s wrath. 

You cannot fit in through the cracked windows, Daxter could’ve. 

If only he was here. 

You roll back your shoulders, your plating feels loose. Your tail plating wriggles as you lash out your tail.  Shedding season is upon you. The stress of holding back the Marauder raid and depleted eco rations during your exile have brought it early this year. 

You need to be with your hive, not here. With loose plating and low eco reserves, you are feeling vulnerable. 

You are not happy that you will be looking even more human during this time. 

You decide to scrabble back onto the ceiling. Over the door. 

If you are lucky, an attendant will open it, instead of your Maker. You doubt it. 

You drop down, landing on all fours. 

The door is unlocked. 

Your claws push it open. 

Your stealth system clicks on. At most, you have enough eco for an hour to power it. 

Your throat is parched. 

The hallway is dark. 

You slowly pad down the hallway, ears straining for any noises. You breath in the night air, the chill rushing into your lungs. Nothing but dry dust. 

You can’t sense any eco fields. 

Perhaps your Maker isn’t home, tending to his kingly duties. 

It’s always been strange to you that a single body and mind can be in an leadership position. 

The light clicks on. You hiss and your clawed hands block the light. Your good eye is nearly blinded by this so you scrunch it shut. 

Your stealth unit shuts off. You didn’t expect this. 

Damas, Lord of Spargus, sits at his kitchen table, a book in front of him. The light gleams off his prosthetic leg, the brass shines brightly. 

His eyes have gone black, the dark eco granting him night vision.

His dark eco scars glow a soft violet, rendering his human face eerie and disturbing. 

You can’t sense his eco field. 

He simply looks at you,  his mouth grim. His ears perked up. You can tell that he was expecting you to leave. 

You take a step back, your ears angle low.

He must’ve cloaked his eco field somehow.

He gets up, his heavy metal leg grinds against the stone floor. It echoes. 

You try to jump up onto the ceiling, wings flapping. You hiss out in pain as your tail is snagged and you get pulled down with it. 

One of your tail plates loosens and falls off. It clatters to the stone floor. 

Anger replaces your fear, the surge of dark eco blackens your eyes. 

You want to go home. You need your hive, you need your hive brother. 

You hiss and shriek and claw at him. He ignores your attempts to get away, even as you draw blood. His eyes look straight ahead.

Your Maker clutches you to his chest, one bulky arm wrapped around your waist and arms, your wings pinned between your body and his. He picks up your fallen biometal plate with the other hand. 

His eyes narrow as he studies it, the blackness in his eyes has faded back to his usual violet. 

You sink your fangs into his arm.

 Your foot claws scrabble at his remaining flesh thigh. 

Your Maker strikes you upside the back of your  head. 

You yelp and let go. 

You stop clawing at his thighs with your feet. 

He is silent.

He brings you back to the spare room that you woke up in. 

He once called it your room.

You refuse to label it that. 

The door clicks as he locks it. 

You are still cradled to his side as your Maker sits on the bed. He’s still pinning you to his chest as his other hand places your fallen plating back on your tail. 

It falls off as your tail whiplashes in response.

His naked eyebrows furrow as he eyes the biometal root, where new plating will grow. His hand rubs over it. 

As he holds you close,his other hand reaches into the nightstand, unlocks it, and pulls out a chain of precursor metal. 

Your wings twitch as you struggle to break free, but his hold only tightens. 

The chain clicks around your ankle as you are shackled to a post in the wall and the iv-tube is reinserted back into your feeding ports. 

Your breathing slows.

You still have enough dark eco in you to hold back most of the effects of the light eco-based sedatives.

He tests your other plating, one hand feeling their bases, assessing how loose they are. Another plate, a shoulder guard comes off as he feels the base.

“…I was not aware that you were capable of shedding, Jak. 

He releases you from his grip and starts to circle you, hands clasped behind his back. 

You scramble as far away as possible to the chain’s limits. The links clink together.

“…This is not acceptable. I need you…safe.  And I know you need contact with your hive and open space to…thrive. “

Your Maker’s voice is pained, hesitant, as he admits truths he does not wish to say. 

He places himself at the desk with your discarded tail and shoulder plate.

The desk is out of reach with your leg restrained. He faces you.

Your Maker is silent as he cleans up the wounds that he stoically endured from your claws. His cuts glow with light eco, shining bright, a split second later the flesh knits back together, good as new. No scarring. 

Your ears flatten back and you silently growl at this. But you still watch, entranced. 

You would give up a limb or two for that kind of ability. 

He notices your attentive gaze. 

“Ma…Jak. I wish to teach you, but you need to trust me.” 

Damas stares you down, the whites of his eyes glow softly. 

You break eye contact. 

He sighs and starts taking out tools to attach a leather strap to your discarded plate. 

You watch as he punches holes into the biometal armor and then rivets a leather strap to it. 

Sitting back on the bed, he wraps the strap around your tail to check if its the right length. It is, so he goes back to the desk and he attachs a buckle to it.

He straps the armor plate back on to your tail

Your tail swishes from side to side, lashes the bed. It stays on. 

The strap feels tight against your tail’s biometallic tubing but it’s better then knowing you will be defenseless for the next few months. 

You reluctantly roll on your back, your wings press into the bed,  and  you make a pleased sound in Hora-Vox, your people’s tongue. 

Your soft under-belly is exposed, protected only by itchy human cloth hide. 

Your main feeding ports are located there. It’s the main reason that your caretakers left it unprotected. 

If he understands you, this is the first time you are choosing to outright show vulnerability. Trust. 

Your Maker seems pleased by this, his lips curling into a smile. 

You look like a crocapup about to get their belly rubbed. 

He reaches out to…you flip back on to your soft underbelly. Your wings flare up in a warning display, the crimson and blue paint flash at him. 

No. 

He shakes his head and starts to work on repairing your shoulder guard. Your Maker hums a soft tune, something you vaguely remember from your first few years in your original human form. 

To pass the time, you claw at your tail plating, etching out delicate filigree. It is the seal of Mar, along with the pictograms of outsider and never belonging. The glyphs for Human and Hora-quan are added. 

You wish Daxter was here to comment on it and to help you with the finer detail. _His_ , _yours_ , _their_ set of smaller claws are better at this. 

The rest of your plates are still covered in exile’s paint. Streaks of white and blue. 

You were hoping that shedding would remove them, but it looks like your Maker is determined to keep you wearing it until the new plates come in. 

Better to wear exile’s colors then to be wandering around defenseless. 

“Jak.”

Your concentration is broken. 

Damas holds your repaired shoulder guard, straps added, in his hands. You flick your tail behind your body. 

Too late.

Your maker has noticed the designs. 

His weight presses down on the bed behind you, his hands hold your tail as he reads them.

He’s silent for a few moments. 

“…my child, you will always have a home here. Even when one home is lost, another one can and will be raised from the ashes.” 

He says that as he straps the shoulder guard to you, the straps undergoing your wing joints. It’s an echo of his own armor. 

Your tail is raised defensively. You still feel uncomfortable with your Maker this close. 

“I’m getting dinner, _stay here.”_

He eyes the ankle chain with suspicion. His heavy footsteps echo away as he strides into the dark hallway. 

For a few tense minutes, he is gone. You wonder if he is coming back. 

You lay curled in bed, wings tight against your back and tail over your head. Sleep licks at the edges of your mind. 

The scent of dark eco, raw leaper meat, metallic supplements, and smoked fish hit you. 

Your Maker holds a tray of food for the both of you. The smoked fish is for him. He knows you cannot consume cooked human foods. The first and only time you and Daxter tried, you both vomited it out. 

Underneath the tray is something wrapped in cloth. 

Your Maker places your food in front of you, along with the wrapped item. 

You are both sitting on the floor. 

“…Jak, here. I’ve been saving this for you since the day you were born.”  

Damas unwraps it.

It’s a chest plate, cast in precursor metal. 

Your eyes widen in surprise and your claws brush against it. 

It’s brass-orange, a forbidden color. But it doesn’t matter. Your own hive brother is orange but you stuck by him all the same. 

Your soft underbelly and exposed chest is the only place where you lack plating and the main reason you prefer to move on all fours. 

“Up.” 

You sit up, your claws digging into the leaper meat. 

The plating is strapped around your lower back, its tight. Damas has to weave some of your cooling system tubing through the straps to prevent you from overheating. 

:”Tomorrow, I will escort you back to your hive but you will report back to me afterwards for light eco training.”

You grunt out a “yes.” in Hora-Vox and gently headbutt your Maker with your horns, hitting him under the chin. 

Your claws run over the chestplate. 

He’s fixed a design flaw that your Caretakers never figured out. 

Damas smiles at you and pets your hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some headcanon notes: 
> 
> As for the feeding ports…all hora-quan have them, jnd included in this ‘verse. If you look at the concept art, some metal heads dont have mouths. So I headcanon that some of them are tube-fed. Even if you have a mouth, its sometimes just quicker to refuel with a nutritious slurry of dark eco, and half-digested flesh via feeding coil.


	10. Rejected Chapters - Deimos Alternative Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was rejected because I couldn't see Damas, even an AU version drag Jak back to his hive and letting him rest there.

You sleep, wakefulness stirs your consciousness. 

Warmth surrounds you, heartbeats beat next to your ears, just like back home in the Nest, where the heartbeats of your countless brothers and sisters thump in their eggs and in their sleep. 

You haven’t felt this way since you were in your first form. 

You feel complete. Your hive brother sleeps, in the crook of your arm, his contentment blooms like a bright light, bleeding into your very self. 

Usually something is missing. 

Your caretakers and younger siblings sleep close to you, their presences flaring, mixing, swirling together. You feel Hardshell’s eco flow into you, their feeding coils fixed into your nutrition ports. 

It is a good feeling. It’s not the dead-minded, soulless dark eco iv-tube crafted by human hands or worse, their dead machines. 

Humming. Vibrations thrum into the nest of the hive-mate that holds you. 

Strong hands cradle you. 

You don;t know this is, but you feel safe. They smell familiar. Their eco field slides, merges with yours, unifying. 

The emotions of unification, lost child found, creator’s love, envelopes you. 

You snuggle closer into the warmth, your face nuzzling it. Itchy fabric grazes your skin.

…fabric? You think, your eyes open a crack. 

Clawless fingers stroke your hair and caress your cheek.

This is wrong. 

But everything feels so right and complete. 

The heartbeats sound just like the ones you heard before you were sedated aganst your will. 

Fear spirals through your systems, your alarm snakes through the network, your hive stirs in questioning shrieks. 

Your claws unsheathe and you dig into the flesh of the safe warm presence that has been holding you. 

…maker? 

human flesh. 

you hit the ground, jarring your plating

—-

damas drops you

he is furious. his eyes flash black for a split second, 

he took you back to your hive after sedating you, hummed your ungrafeful ass asleep and you repaid him by sinking your claws into his arms. his emotions scream. 

hardshell sniffs at you, covering your small frame, shielding you from the angry king

the last you see of your maker is him striding towards the door, sorrow and anger, a maelstrom in his eco field 

his eyes rake over you, hurt hidden under regal steel.


	11. Lore - Hora Quan Linguistics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some ancient notes on Hora Quan/Metal Head linguistics. Originally posted on tumblr.

body language . 

-showing underbelly is a sign of vulnerability and trust. 

-scent rubbing with glands is done to show affection and possession/that u belong to this hive and unit

-for those with tails, tail arcing over back or straight up is a sign of aggression

-for those with wings, folded back usually means defensive/fear. threat displays are wings flared out/means NO. winged hq often paint their wings with war paint/intimidating designs. 

-if a younger member drops into hatchling dialect with their clutchmates/unit members around elders, it means private conversation and most elders will turn a blind eye to it. its a sign of great distress. 

-for hq hybrids mixed with human, rubbing of the skull gem, means a desire to connect with humanity if they are interacting with a full-blooded human. however humans without skull gems cannot be part of the hive mind. the mental gulf is distressing to the human-hq hybrid. 

-human cultures stress movement of the ears to be rude/a sign of emotional unstability. still stiff ears is a way to mask emotions. 

hq hybrids aren’t raised with these social mores, so their ears are far more expressive then their non-modified human cousins. ears will tilt, swivel, angle, roll forward, backwards to catch sounds. they lower in fear, angle back in anger, anger can be measured by how flattened the ears are, perk up in curiosity, and twitch straight upward in alarm or in excitement.


	12. Lore - Horaquan Etchings and Body Mods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some lore on how Metal Heads decorate themselves. Originally posted on tumblr.

Basic etchings are just clawed in, engraved with talons.

Or dark eco mixed with vomit can be used to corrode designs, but this is a riskier technique. 

Paint/ink can be latter added or done at the same session. 

Spargan Hora-Quan who swore fealty to Damas will often have Precursor Metal inlain into the grooves of the filigree. With eco vomit, to cause it to melt and then stick. Gold may gild their plating as well. Shedded Hora-Quan plating gilded with Precursor Metal sells for a decent chunk in the human markets. 

Progenitor and Maker-caste Hora-quan will often have copper inlain into their plating etchings. It rusts to a nice green, symbolizing their affinity for making and altering life. And their mastery over green eco. Jak and Dax have copper inlain on their shoulder, thigh, and wing plating. 

However, getting metal inlain into plating is painful since it requires either having it hammered in or eco vomit used to make it melt into the grooves. 

Hora-Quan living in more peaceful areas, may have bigger chunks cut out of their plating. Airy openwork designs. However, this threatens the structural integrity of their plating, so rare is the entity that uses this. 

Oh, and each unit will have their own glyph to designate themselves. Hives also have their own glyph as well, along with their nest. A full “name’ of a unit will be Nest Glyph, Hive Glyph, Unit Glyph, along with claw marks to determine how many is in their unit. 

guh, i need to figure out designs for the six eco types they have.

Yesssss, swirls can be used to determine “many”. Green swirls painted ten plus times against a purple background means Nest, then u add the Nest’s own specific glyph. 

the seal of mar’s meaning take on different shades depending on what kind of colored paint is used for.

too tired to think of it. 

geometric angular shapes are easiest with claws, curving lines would be harder to do.


	13. Lore - Hybrid OCs/Hybrid Making Process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some information on how hora-quan/human hybrids are made and OCs that are hybrids. Along with social implications of their existence. They never did end up written into the main storyline. Posted here so tumblr doesn't eat the notes.

 

- **Screech (Briefly Mentioned in[Shame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16302521/chapters/38131382)) **

Sniper. Green eco channeler. Able to draw it out of the land when in an area with lots of cactuses/oasis, etc. (this kills the plant life however, so he doesnt do it too often) Likes to talk to rocks and sand. Friendly cheerful guy. Mostly a pacifist. Tried to be a spargan citizen but noped out after finding out about the arena test.

Fully human, but got a skull gem implanted. 

Ex-marauder. Wasn’t a fan of their violent culture. He likes to chill in his mountain cave. Once saved a metal-saur and its desert flyers) from certain death. They grew fond of each other. Screech ended up joining their hive and the four of them bio-engineered some hatchlings ), with Screech’s channeling dna in it. 

The little hive now makes a living as desert medics.

——

**Tazer and Sparks**

Tazer the Enforcer. (”Juice Goon” looks like this: [http://jakanddaxter.wikia.com/wiki/Juice_goon](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fjakanddaxter.wikia.com%2Fwiki%2FJuice_goon&t=MDkzNzAxMjViM2RlNWU1Yjg2MTg4OTVhMDRhYzBkYmFiMThkYTA5MSxlWWJEc0IwZw%3D%3D&b=t%3ACH6Jo8dWwfTLCTT0-DfZhw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fthewinglordproject.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F143189497655%2Fhql-hybrid-oc-list&m=0)

Sparks. Age 8. Translator-caste with “grunt” breed mods. 

Their hive is a band of drones and enforcers. I don’t know much about their backstory, I just had an idea of Tazer bringing her kid to a hq-friendly doctor because human biology isn’t that well known to the hora-quan. 

—–

**-[Spyder Gunner](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fjakanddaxter.wikia.com%2Fwiki%2FSpyder_gunner&t=ZjZkN2EyZTM2MWRmYjk2MGIxNzY4MDc4MzBkN2Y2ZDIwYWEwZDg3MyxlWWJEc0IwZw%3D%3D&b=t%3ACH6Jo8dWwfTLCTT0-DfZhw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fthewinglordproject.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F143189497655%2Fhql-hybrid-oc-list&m=0)/Human Hybrid.**

Needs a name. Human teen with the lower legs of a spyder gunner and the skull gem/gun/plating as well. 

All I know is that this kid was born without working legs and since Spargus is very “survival of the fittest”, the parents feared they would have to dispose of their child. So they sold their infant to a nomadic hive in the hopes, they would survive and become a translator-caste. When he’s older, he gets to visit his parents a lot, when the hive is in Spargus, trading. 

Toying with the idea, that his parents later get skull gem implants to become closer to their son. But they only use it to commune with him and avoid the HQ hive mind. (Other hora-quan are so confused by his parents) 

—–

**Making of Hybrids**

Made from orphaned children or desperate humans. The grafts is a lot more likely to succeed when younger or in green eco channelers. Assimilation into the Hive Mind is easier in young children, adults have a lot harder time.

I’ll add to this later. But hybrid making involves sticking a human child or older, into a chrysalis pod. With Progenitor-caste HQ

Human fetuses/embryos cannot survive the Dark Eco infused green in these chrysalis pods. It fucks up their development. 

Human-breed Hora-Quan do not take well to their skull gem into being implanted in other bodies that isn’t humanoid based. 

**Treatment of Hybrids.**

Much more common in Haven, due to Dark and Green Eco being common. And the sheer amount of war orphans. Nest Reclamation exports their Translator-caste creations to Nest Decimation in the Western Wastelands, to Nest Leviathan in the North, and etc. From these nests, smaller hives snatch them up. 

Not sure how Haven treats them. A few are in the FG and are used as liasons. Some hybrids are used to extract dark eco-based hallucogens mixed with their dream/hive mind chemicals. This is illegal, but Haven’s seedy underworld is still thriving due to Haven being fucked up from the Dark Maker Wars.  [@saltysaltdog](https://tmblr.co/mFqatEhZhUvamrSgaagEsuw) at credit for the idea. 

In Spargus, a few are King’s Wards, found after their Hive tried to attack Wastelanders. They are protected by Damas, though they notice that he often treats them different. Hybrids who part of trading caravans have a harder time. Wastelanders find them disconcerting. Uncanny Valley effect. Service is often refused to them and they often get kicked out from the marketplaces in Spargus itself. (Outsider’s Bazaar is a whole ‘nother story).

In Kras, they are shot. Or used as drug-sources or as heavies. 

In the Lurker controlled lands, they are tolerated. More of a source of confusion. The Acheron branch of the Eco Silos, find them fascinating. (descended from Gol and Maia) 


	14. Lore - House of Mar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I fleshed out the House of Mar for this AU ages ago and this is what I came up with back in 2016. some nsfw content.

Damascus - Damas’ father. Light eco sage. Permanent light form. Was noted for his shielding, healing, and chrono manipulation, and swords of light techniques. His light eco tendrils usually draped down his back like a living cape, tethered to blades. known as the “king of swords.” 

Lived to be over a century and sired Damas in his early 80s. (Light eco, man. Light eco) . Died of heartbreak when Damas was 18 due to Styx leaving him.. (Think King Bumi from Avatar the Last Airbender whose over a hundred years old but fucking ripped). Held the Hora-Quan at bay with by raining down spears of light eco. Most of Damas’ older siblings died in the wars against the Hora-Quan. 

Styx Acheron - Vicious woman and Damas’ mother.. Had Damas in her late thirties. The muse is like a shadow. Origins unknown. Sought Dark Eco Sagehood. Was fond of the invisibility and dark strike technique. Punched through walls when angry and would chokeslam Damascus during their wild monkey sex. She was head of Damascus’ private guard and she assassinated many threats to him. Damas was her accidental bastard son, she was not married to King Damascus.

She and Damascus had wild monkey sex, he was her bitch, her masochistic painslut. His old ass could take whatever she threw at him, fancy light eco healing abilities fixed it. Left Haven when Damas was fifteen to seek out the Acheron silos.. She got tired of Haven’s bullshit, and the pull of the Dark Eco was too strong. Believed in human superiority and used to lead raids into Lurker territory to capture slaves. if she lives in the fic, she might end up as head of Aeropa and its dark warrior program. by that time, she’ll be in her eighties. 

Damas - Youngest son of Damascus.Suffered through the Haven Council debating if he was even legible to heir to the throne. His few surviving sisters were not legible due to the family name being passed via the male line. (One of them married Baron Praxis.) 

Due to inexperience, being a bastard, and fucking up the Nest Invasion, he was exiled at the young age of 20. Everyone was expecting another Damascus, but Damas could not live up to his father’s reputation. Was noted for his inability to channel either Light or Dark at time of exile. Only the Basic Four. (His family issues led to mental blockages when trying to channel either)

Took the throne of Spargus at 25. Fathered Sig at 27. His disgust at corrupt paper-pusher nobles running everything led Damas to embrace the Spargan way of the Arena and other Trials to determine rank. Later learned how to channel Light Eco from the Precursor Monks. Wed Scourge, Marauder cheftain after defeating her in single combat. She taught him the basics of Dark Eco-infused hand to hand combat. Sired Jak/Mar when he was 40. Jak was kidnapped from the Precursor Temple while being watched over by the monks.

Despite slaying Kor and defeating the Dark Makers in his mid to late forties, Damas refused to take back the Haven throne. Has become noticeably more ruthless ever since his son has went missing. Found his son at 55, in the care of the hora-quan. Infertile after the Dark Maker war. Only had two biological children since he was disgusted at how his own father had so many children and neglected most of them

Scourge: Jak’s mom. Wed Damas after being defeated in single combat. It was a deal, if she won, she got to leave and Spargus would allow the Marauders free reign over the Wastes. If she lost, she becomes his bride, gives him a child and peace between their two factions.

He escorted her to the Marauder camps and got stuck out in the desert during a Sandstorm. @justalurkerpotato for this idea. Their marriage fell apart after Jak was kidnapped and she blamed Damas for his loss. The fragile peace between Marauders and Spargans broke apart. She allied with Damas during the Dark Maker Wars and has been missing for the past ten years.

(Marauder culture notes, nomadic, live in their vehicles, they use hora-quan hide, and walls of metal to keep out the deadly sandstorms. When they come of age, they graft dark eco crystal shards to their bodies. Extremely aggressive people who have huge families and then thin out the runts. Some of their berzerkers are small blue-dark mixes, that carry a lifetime’s worth of rage from being brutalized. They have an eco-worshipping religion.)

Jak/Mar: we all know who this foo is.

Dax: the other foo we all know. got adopted into the family after Damas realized HE’S ALWAYS WITH JAK. 

Sig: I’M GONNA DO IT. Sig is now Jak’s older half brother in this fic. Damas sired him when he was 27. Helped Damas storm the Nest to look for his little bro when he was 18. Sig’s now 28. 

Wears most of the armor set that Jak receives in canon. Minus the chest piece, its too small for him. Heir and Damas’ second-in-command. 

Sauer: Sig’s mom. 6′ 3″. Head of the Spargan armory and Enforcer of the Outsider’s Bazaar. Lifts weights for fun. Her air conditioning is harvested from several metal-saurs she killed herself. single-handedly. is a member of Damas’ harem. 

In-laws, distant relatives 

Rifle: Sister in law to Damas

Sabre: Ashelin’s mom, half-sister to Damas via Damascus. 

Ashelin and Torn:


	15. Lore - Eco Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horaquan Legacy Eco Theory Notes. Copied from my old tumblr post

-majority blue eco plus dark and yellow = long range lasers that burn with dark eco. (dark maker satellite )

-need perfect ratio of light and dark to create the “ying-yang” like swirls found in the temple. (where u learn flash freeze) 

-dark eco, if exposed to direct sunlight will eventually break down into the four colored ecos and eventually into light eco. light eco if stored in darkness will break down into dark eco. spargus has a lot more light eco due to being in a desert with barely any foliage. however, deep underground, dark eco still churns.

-most marauders grow up to be jacked due to red eco infusion starting from conception. marauder ladies will infuse their unborn children with red eco via specialized channeling. so everyone is BARA. (in this fic, Jak’s mom is a marauder lady named Scourge. bara moms for everyone!)


	16. Lore - Reproduction/Sex/Gender of Various Species

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOT SAFE FOR WORK.

**Spargus**

Spargus don’t give a shit. Spargus’ main concern is…can you use a gun? can you fight? are you smart enough to survive? if not, can you do other things that are useful. I personally think they can be an ableist society. 

However, Damas’ because of his Havenite upbringing does consider males to be  more expendable. (he doesn’t like any of his people dying, but it happens.) its the women who are needed to sustain the population. Female warriors are the majority of the home defense, while males are more likely to do field work in the wastelands. (however, nothing is stopping either gender from switching over or doing both. though Damas makes sure  the ladies out in the field are partnered up with someone/have extra gear) 

Spargus adult population is sixty to seventy percent women. Most of the young adult males having been killed in the Dark Maker Wars. And a decent chunk of the young adult females got killed too.  Most of the remaining males are elders or those who are just hitting adulthood. So you have cougars hunting down the nubile young things. Young women have their pick of the crop and they frequently compete over men. 

The bath houses are communal, both sexes and multiple genders use them. They used to be divided by sex, until some trans/gender-variant wastelanders took over the bathhouses in protest and threw everyone else out. And refused to leave, until the bath houses became communal/third section was built for them/trans people could use the section they feel most comfortable in. Damas didn’t have time for this shit, so he was like, fine, let things be communal.  trans/third gender/non-binary nights are a thing at the bathhouse. 

Abortion is done via herbs/surgery to remove the fetus.

Transpeople will often go to the local eco specialists to transition medically. Green eco can influence how puberty is done if treated early enough. However, it requires regular visits, since the eco is being manipulated on a cellular and chemical level with the body. These treatments aren’t cheap, so trans people will often owe their doctor in favors for years. 

For those who transition in adulthood, the Hora-Quan import bio-engineered hormones to Spargus, synthesized in their spawning pools and egg chambers. They are usually used as steroids/as medicine, but transitioning is also done. Dark Eco has steroid-like effects so transmasculine people will often take low dosages. It can be dangerous to those who aren’t channelers with a known dark eco immunity. Green and Light Eco is used to counter-act the side effects. 

Unit Trifecta of Hive Exile eventually picks up some trans people as clients, since they are Progenitor - caste and altering flesh is their function.

Most Wastelanders consider being trans or non-binary to be unusual but they have other things to worry about. Some cis - spargans are not comfortable taking on trans or/and non-binary people as partners. Damas is not one of them, being in a chaste political marriage with Seem, who is agender. 

Before Damas, Spargus was ruled by Queen Rem and her ancestors. When she retired, her daughters Sauer and Rifle was heir to the throne, before she lost to Lord Damas in the Arena. Unwilling to loose her ancestral home to an outsider, Sauer wed Lord Damas and produced Sig. 

—-

**Hora-Quan Gender.**

They have no mental gender. Sex-wise, most of them are hermaphrodites. Bigger Hora-Quan lay the eggs. What’s more important is caste, breed, Function. 

EDIT: Base Hora-Quan Genitalia.  Hora-quan have a vagina and a penis for jizzing into spawning pools. A second ovipositor can unsheath from the depths of the vagina, connected to the ovaries to lay eggs. Ovaries and Testicles are both internal. The vagina itself also extend out to vacuum up eco-genetic slurry from the breeding pools or/and to snoodle dick. Both the dick and ovipositor are kept sheathed internally, covered by plating, but there’s a slit where the organs can slither out. 

I haven’t fully fleshed out HQ Reproduction but this is what I have. 

-Maker-Caste Hora-Quan spawn in the breeding pool of watered down Dark Eco. Genetic material is jizzed out and mixed. This dark eco/genetic slurry is collected and put into an eggpod infused with Green Eco.  Those who wish to be egg-layers may sit in the breeding pool and they have an organ to suck up the eco-genetic slurry into their gestation chambers. Or regular sex happens, with two or more partners and some or everyone will get pregnant. Sometimes penis fencing happens. (There’s a sea slug that will have members duel with their penises, looser gets impregnanted)

(Maker-Caste Hora-Quan are those who have survived long battles and are the top members of their breed. Gotta earn the right to continue your bloodline. Jak referring to his biological parents as “Maker” means he does respect their accomplishments and its an honor to be from the House of Mar/Scourge’s clan) 

-Eggs are laid.

-The Progenitor Caste will hit into a trance state and commune with the eco, guiding the genetic material to form embryos, depending on what will serve the hive. (Referred to as Designer, by their hatchlings. ) 

-Genetic material can also be collected in non-sexual ways. (Hair, skin, blood, etc). This is how _______ end up raising hatchlings with their dna, the embryos modified to be mostly hora-quan with human-level channeling/human voice boxes to make it easier for them to be translator-caste. Human fetuses cannot survive the eggpods, the dark eco kills them. 

There also eggpods/chrysalis pods in which other creatures can be implanted in and then genetically altered/have pod-grown limbs and plating grafte on to them)

(Parental roles via the HQ) 

-Maker are those where your genetic material comes from. It is a great honor to be raised by one’s Maker, since they usually ignore their many hatchlings. 

-Designer, is the Progenitor Caste- member who designed/guided your embryo template in the egg. 

-Caretaker is the one who raises you. 

—-

When talking to humans, different castes have different pronouns attached to them. The lack of gender neutral pronouns makes for translation difficulties. 

They is the most common pronoun when dealing with humans for trade. However, it gets confusing, when a human is trying to identify one body or one unit outside of the whole hive collective. 

The pronoun, “it” is often used but culturally-aware Hora-Quan find the term to be insulting. The most common pronouns referred to for breeds that aren’t bipedal/human looking. 

The Resources/Feeder, Progenitor and Maker castes are usually referred to  with she/her. For some reason, the humans consider child-making and resource-gathering to be mainly a “women’s domain”. Most hives just do the equivalent of a shrug. 

Hunter, Drone, Grunt, etc castes with bipedal breeds are often referred to as he/his by humans. Usually the more combat-oriented ones. 

Translator-caste find a pronoun that they like and stick with it. 

(Jak and Dax, never found a caste they fully fit in. As of human-origin, they experimented with different roles but due to ill-fitting, many castes rejected them. Limited flight limited their missions with the Flight castes, too headstrong/independent to be part of the drones and grunts, too small to be part of the Berserker caste…They liked Hunting, but they also liked rearing the hatchlings of their Progenitor-Caste caretakers…Eventually they get named Guardian-role of the Progenitor Caste, so they get used to all kinds of pronouns, she/her being one of them. its just a useless human label to them) 

Hora-Quan do not fully understand human biological sexes, seeing them more as body types. They know of human sexes as “human flatchest” and “human lump-chests.” Modified human hora-quan hybrids, usually get their breast tissue removed since its viewed as an unwanted sign of humanity and useless. 

—-

**Lurker.**

Females only get tits when pregnant. 

——

**Monkcaw**

Female Monkcaws are more brightly colored. They fight over the best nesting spots, so they need bright-ass plumage to be noticed. They feed their young by vomiting up food. Tits are grown only when pregnant. 

—–

Haven, haven’t put much thought into it. Other there’s more sexism and shit.

—-

**Marauders**

Certain eco useage is restricted by sex. Red is restricted to cis-women. It’s often used to make Marauder females stronger, to survive easier as a desert nomad and to ease the pain of childbirth. Menustrating Marauder females will use their blood as warpaint after mixing it with red eco. The smell fucks up their enemies. 

Red eco paint is passed down from Mother to Daughter. A Mother will paint her Daughter when she comes of age.  The stomach area is an area only cis-women are allowed to paint. 

Green eco is gender-neutral. Blue is male-only. It helps out the drivers who are mostly males. Yellow is gender-neutral, long range shooting helps protect the tribe. 

Females are believed by the Mauraders to be more emotional and vicious in combat, but lacking the rational thought needed to manage things. Scourge ended up as Cheftain by killing everyone who stood in her way. 


	17. Lore - Disability In Spargus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> various thoughts on how disability is handled in spargus post dark maker war. and how jak and damas deal with theirs. this is a fictional setting and not my views. i wrote this a few years ago so it might be problematic in places or illogical. this fic is dead either way

so during the dark maker wars, a good chunk of the population got killed. idk how many exactly a sixth to a fourth. enough that most of the young male population is gone. (20s to 40s) i cover more of this here:http://thewinglordproject.tumblr.com/post/142620509375/sexgender-in-hql

a lot of survivors have chronic pain issues, are amputees, scarred, missing eyes or/and ears, etc. families, neighbors, siblings-in-arms, etc who are more “able-bodied” aid those who need help. spargan culture was already very communal before, so this isnt that surprising. (unlike haven where its more everyone for themselves) 

when the city was rebuilt after the dark-maker wars, it was found that lot of the stairs needed to be replaced with lower-grade ramps to make it more accessible for those with mobility issues. communal bathrooms needed to have handrails attached, the bath houses needed to be altered for mobility issues/have rooms for those who want to bath in peace. 

however, there’s a very “be useful or be deadweight” culture. those who can’t fight are expected to help out in other ways. (making stuff, rearing crops and animals, watching children, teaching, archival work, repair etc) intellectual disabilities/mental illnesses are treated less compassionately. i.e if u are depressed, u are expected to do the work you need to do. meltdowns are not looked down upon kindly, those with sensory issues are expected to tough it out. those with a strong enough support system will have their friends/family etc pick up on the duties on their bad days, but people will often tsk in disapproval. 

green and light eco dependencies are common. some use dark eco/red eco/blue eco as stimulants to work pass the pain/push their body beyond the limit. those who are capable of eco transformations will often use those to cope. i.e those with light eco wings will use those to get around if they are missing legs. 

there are counseling and support groups, i.e one for hora-quan/human hybrids and their family members. and the monks provide therapy, both mental and physical. however dark eco channelers often feel unsafe going to the monks. since they are very “pro-light” and have a rigid idea on what kind of “minds” and “bodies” are acceptable. 

there’s motivational posters for those who are disabled in the clinics and bath houses. spargan propaganda to rise above your injuries and keep going. but sometimes ur just in so much pain, YOU CAN’T. you can’t rise above. but ur surrounded by this leaper shit city that WONT LET U rest. 

for those who need limb/body part replacement, they have several options: 

-spargan-made prosthetics are often primitive but easy to make. (i.e peg legs, forged arms, etc. ) no sensory things but you are able to move around and grab things crudely. however, pain is often due to ill-fit. 

-imports from haven. expensive. damas will provide these to his best/most noted warriors for free. however, many spargans are in debt to him for this. (indentured servitude, motherfuckers!) requires a cybernetic specialist/green eco technican/surgeon to attach to your nerves. pain is common. (i got two ocs who specialize in cybernetics. seizure and suture, ex-dwp scientists) 

-hora-quan grown limbs. easiest, most painfree option. high social stigma. for a price, the progenitor caste hives will graft on new limbs and body parts. requires a visit to a hora-quan nest and a chrysalis pod. most hives will require a wastelander to get a skull gem implanted. you want to look like a hora-quan? assimilate into the people. 

-precursor tech. expensive. requires light/green ecochannelers. some of the monks will do this. (only if you are worthy). idk.

damas: after loosing the bottom half of his right leg and being bed bound from fucked up eco burns, sig (first born son of damas in this au) and sauer (queen of spargus, first wife, mother of sig) have to rule in his place for a while. rehabilitation takes him a few years. had to get the family bathing area/toilet to be modified to make it easier for him to move around. he found the whole experience humiliating, so he doesnt like to talk about it. it did force him to make the whole city more physically accessible however.

some assholes try to challenge his right to the throne when he’s still recovering. at first, sig and sauer act as his champion, and then later damas whoops ass on the challengers. 

gets full use of his body two years before the demolition duo shows up

his prosthetic is a mix of haven and precursor tech. however, whats left of his leg fucking hurts. PHANTOM PAIN. turns to frequent light eco useage to dull it. his precursor staff is used as mobility aid. can often be sighted gliding/flying around the city. because WHY WALK WHEN YOU CAN FLY? 

in his spare time, he spars with his prosthetic leg on. and goes on runs in the desert. (later on jak and dax follow him/fly above him) 

also his right ear got mostly torn/burned off. so he has a metal prosthetic ear covering the remains, so he can still pick up on sounds.

jak: need to do more research on this. half blind. his right eye got fucked up in a ranking fight with other hora-quan when he was eight. it can still pick up eco auras and thermal, but not much else. very dull fields. daxter will ride on his right side and act as his eyes. they synchronize and share sensory information. 

jak has been given the option to get a new eye but daxter always shoots it down. poor kid has been through enough eye trauma. (his eyes were removed while he was eaten alive when he was six). feeling new eyes being implanted/regrown fucked dax up even more. the two ALWAYS wear goggles in spargus, as eye protection. because of the hive mind, daxter can feel jak’s sensory input. hence not wanting to get a new eye. jak respects this. 

also, too much sunlight will blind jak while he’s in his dark form so daxter has to guide him. they are nocturnal. 

jak has a hard time adjusting to having less dark eco and being able to fly less

damas once kicked the demolition duo out of the palace after daxter wouldn’t shut up about damas getting a new leg regrown via hora-quan grafting.


	18. Lore - Damas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons of Damas.

> **Damas’ fighting style**
> 
> Damas’ fighting style is meant for one thing. to _kill. it is tanky, brutal, bloody._ meant to put your foe down **permanently.**
> 
> he is a combat pragmatist. in battle, his goals are to ** _stay alive, win._**
> 
> in hand to hand combat, he is aggressive. with powerful punches, kicks and strikes.  doesn’t like his opponent being able to recover. he will grab ears and pull his foe’s head close just so his knuckles can keep pummeling them. he will do sweeping strikes, his forearm plating hitting his foes like a bat. likes to grab his opponent and headbutt them with his horn-crowned skull. 
> 
> his bulky spiked shoulder armor is not for show. after punching someone and knocking them back, he will charge, spiked shoulder pad to their motherfucking face. those spikes are stained with blood. 
> 
> he will kick someone, and then lunge in for the kill, the kick becoming a stomp onto their fallen body. 
> 
> **spargan kilts**
> 
> my bf who has fighting experience, actually demonstrated this for me. skirts/kilts that cover your knees are good in hand to hand combat. you can lift up your knee like your about to kick, even if you don’t, its distracting and psyches out the opponent. the flurry of the cloth makes it hard to guess if a kick is coming or not. they have to guess and prepare for being kicked or not. 
> 
> which leaves them more likely to lower their guard. 
> 
> **bloodsport religion**
> 
> the arena of death isn’t just to cull possible citizens. its to flood spargus with eco from the dead. eco is life force. everyone decays into eco upon death. in ages past, the wastelanders noticed the land is more fertile when the eco flows free. 
> 
> the dead get angry. the eco remembers. failed kings who fall in combat, who fail when they are challenged, have their throats slit in the arena, to appease the raging dead. 


End file.
